


Why am I so drawn to you?

by PickandMix



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Slash, also smut, bc Thranduil being confused by his attraction is hilarious and wonderful to me, plenty of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickandMix/pseuds/PickandMix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why am I so drawn to you?"</p><p>"... My Lord?"</p><p>"You're captivating. If I did not know better, I'd accuse you of casting a spell upon me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why am I so drawn to you?

It doesn't take long to locate Dale's soon-to-be king, he rather stands out amongst the throngs of people milling about. And it also doesn't take long for said future king to wander off to be alone with his thoughts, his mind no doubt heavy with thoughts of the battle that had only just ended and the coronation that will undoubtedly follow. His people have already declared their wish to see Bard take up the role as their new king, and he would be nothing short of foolish to refuse. Thranduil has many, many years of experience, and Bard is entirely the type of king that these people need.

He approaches silently at first, simply observing the man as he finds a quiet spot in the ruins and looks out at the mountains. The slope of his shoulders sags only slightly, his head bowed as exhaustion undoubtedly catches up with him. The Elvenking lingers silently for a moment longer, finds himself admiring the way Bard holds himself, even in private. Watches how his fingers come up to worry at his forehead, the rise and fall of his form as he inhales deeply. And, suddenly, it's all too tempting-- the man is somehow irresistible, as though Thranduil is being pulled towards him.

He makes his presence known only when he's but two strides away, his toe catching a stone so that Bard will turn. And turn he does, brows inched high and his hand immediately reaching for the hilt of his sword. But Thranduil is upon him before he can even close his fingers around it, and a whoosh of air leaves the bargeman's lungs as he's forced back against the stone wall of the ruins. He's clearly not foolish enough to struggle, with the Elvenking's arms resting against the wall either side of him to prevent his escape, and instead simply stares with ever so slightly widened eyes. His gaze is questioning, but for a moment Thranduil says nothing, his brows creased as his gaze traces across the man's features slowly.

"Why am I so drawn to you?"

His voice is so sharp and sudden that for a moment Bard is at a loss, his hands hanging limply at his sides as he lets his brow crease and tips his head up to meet the elf's gaze-- which, thankfully, isn't all that difficult with his slightly hunched form. "... My Lord?"

"You're _captivating_." He speaks as though clarifying his actions, tongue darting out to wet his lips in a way that draws Bard's attention for a moment. "If I did not know better, I would accuse you of casting a spell on me."

"Then it's a good thing you know better, my Lord Thranduil." Bard's lips very nearly twitch upwards as he assesses the situation, realisation finally dawning on him that Thranduil is _attracted_ to him, and that's why he's been behaving so oddly. 

Thranduil's only response is a hum, low and deep and vibrating through the air between them as Bard shifts his stance to lean more comfortably against the wall. It seems he may be there for a while. For a moment longer they're both silent, simply watching each other, and then Bard decides he wants to test the waters, as it were.

Subtly, he shifts his arm so that the backs of his knuckles skim against the material of his robes. Thranduil's gaze briefly flickers down, and then his brows crease once again, gaze shifting back up to meet Bard's as he narrows his eyes. "You should not hold such sway over my thoughts." His tone is almost a growl but much quieter, and he seems to be speaking to himself more than he is to Bard. But he answers all the same.

"Logic cannot be found in all things. You must know this, surely." He allows himself a smile, then, tilting his head up in a way that brings their lips closer together, a tempting invitation to the Elvenking. Reaching up with one hand as Thranduil seems to debate internally on what to do, Bard catches his hand in one of his own, drawing it down around his waist. It seems to draw the elf from his thoughts, and he presses his fingers into the material of Bard's coat, his tongue flickering over his lower lip again. 

"I am beginning to see that, certainly." As Bard starts to subtly take control of the situation, Thranduil decides against allowing it, the confidence of a king who has  _millennia_  on his target returning to his features. And the smirk that lifts his lips brings a sudden lump to Bard's throat, makes him hesitate in his slow working up to getting Thranduil to touch him. Because, apparently, Thranduil has taken that into his own hands. Before he can think of some way to tease the Elvenking, he finds himself being closed in on, suddenly thankful that Thranduil had thought to remove his armour before seeking him out. His body is pressed back lightly into the wall, their forms fitting together with surprising ease as Thranduil lowers his head so that his breath fans out over Bard's lips. "Tell me, bargeman... Do you find yourself exhausted, after the battle?" 

As he speaks, his head lowers further, and Bard very nearly shudders when he cants his head so that his lips brush teasingly against his jawline. It's a fleeting press of lips that makes him crave more, and all of a sudden he's very aware that he's not the one in charge of this situation, nor had he ever been. He exhales a long breath that he didn't realise he'd been holding, and instinctively his fingers curl into the robes covering Thranduil's chest. "Exhausted, no. In need of stress relief? Aye." 

Thranduil laughs against his skin, and the sound is so low and pleasant that Bard feels a pang in his chest, a longing to hear it again. He grips tighter at the elf's robes, drawing him in closer as he lets his eyelids flutter closed. Thranduil's lips meet his jaw again, this time finding the stubble that leads to his sideburns, and Bard has to fight to keep himself standing upright. Thankfully, the warm hand nestled at the small of his back is keeping him steady enough. Lips move along to his ear, and Bard releases a low hum despite his best efforts, the softness of the Elvenking's lips not entirely surprising. It seems as though everything about him may just be flawless. 

With a shaky breath, Bard tries to bring more confidence to his voice than he necessarily feels when next he speaks. "My Lord Thranduil, there are eyes and ears everywhere." Despite his words he doesn't release his robes, in fact he grips them tighter and curses internally when he feels Thranduil's lips turn up into a smirk against the shell of his ear.

"Yes, there is." Lips close around his earlobe, before diverting down the slope of his neck, and Bard feels a low rumble of a hum vibrate against the palm of his hand when Thranduil continues. "But mine are keener. I will hear any approaching footsteps." His words are entirely reassuring, and all Bard's doubts flee as he turns his head so that his stubbled cheek brushes against the smooth skin of Thranduil's. 

"Then what are you waiting for, my Lord?" He questions with a confidence he doesn't feel, his other hand grasping the elf's hip to drag him in tighter against his form. Amusement dances in Thranduil's eyes as he draws back to look at the future king of Dale, and without another world he dips his head down low and seals his mouth over the man's. The kiss is firm and vicious as the Elvenking demands control, his teeth catching on Bard's lip before a tongue darts out to soothe it. And it isn't long before the tongue slips between Bard's parted lips to meet his own, Thranduil's hand dropping away from the wall so that he can grasp his jaw and keep his chin angled up. Craving the touch of skin like he's a lovesick teenager, Bard fumbles to find some, his fingers uncurling from his robe so that he can brush them beneath his collar and meet the sharp collarbones beneath, his rough and calloused skin skimming across flawlessly soft skin.

Thranduil hums his approval and grasps Bard tighter, almost lifting him off the floor as he tightens his arm around him and straightens up slightly. It draws Bard onto his toes, and a low moan is forced from his throat as his other hand scrabbles up from Thranduil's hip to grasp the back of his head, curling into the silken strands of hair found there. The reaction is instant, the Elvenking groaning delicately into his mouth as he drops his hands to the fastenings of Bard's clothing, seeking the skin beneath. Bard lets him willingly, his own fingers seeking out whatever fastening he can find to get him access to what he can only imagine to be a perfect body hiding beneath. He struggles with Thranduil's many layers far more than the Elvenking struggles with his, deft fingers working swiftly to part his coat and reveal the tunic beneath. Bard's breath catches sharply in his throat as soft hands glide up his stomach, and he tips his head back against the wall to watch Thranduil's curious expression as his fingers dance higher. His fingers linger on the short hair covering Bard's chest, and the bargeman watches as his lips tilt upwards subtly, his head canted to look down at where his hands disappear beneath the tunic. 

Frustrated, Bard grunts and tugs at Thranduil's clothes, drawing a low chuckle from the elf that shoots straight down to Bard's groin. His breathing is a little ragged as he watches Thranduil draw away, follows nimble fingers as they work the hidden fastenings to open up his outer layer of clothing. Bard's swallow is audible as Thranduil's fingertips dip down to the hem of tunic, and he wishes suddenly that they were somewhere warmer, somewhere he could fully divest the elf Lord of all of his clothing and properly lay his eyes upon him. For now, he makes do with catching the hem between his fingertips, Thranduil's own hand falling back to Bard's waist as Bard inches the tunic up over a beautifully toned stomach. He groans at the sight of it, utterly captivated, and as Thranduil leans in to kiss him again he presses a finger to his lips and shakes his head. 

"Give me a moment." He watches as Thranduil's brows crease in confusion, and he chuckles as he leans up so that his lips brush gently against the shell of Thranduil's ear. "You'll enjoy it." Thranduil shudders, the lips skimming his sensitive ear enough to draw an instant reaction from him that has Bard inhaling a sharp breath. As his hands skim up Thranduil's stomach, his lips meet his ear again, teasing along the shell of his ear before he rolls his earlobe between his lips. Thranduil's hand braces against the wall again to steady himself, eyelids fluttering closed as Bard teases his tongue up to the sharp point of his ear. A weaker elf would surely have collapsed, and without a doubt his knees do feel a little weaker at the contact, his fingers biting into Bard's hip in a way that he knows will leave bruises. "I wish to hear you moan my name." Bard admits, sucking teasingly on Thranduil's earlobe as his hands roam higher to find a bare, firm chest. 

"Then you will have to _earn_ it." Thranduil's low growl is  _delightful_ , and Bard can't stop the groan that falls from his lips as he turns his head to capture Thranduil's mouth with his own. But he doesn't linger this time. Instead, he ducks down and raises Thranduil's tunic to expose him to Bard's eager mouth, lips meeting the skin with a satisfied hum. Thranduil smiles privately, his knuckles skimming up Bard's side as he exhales a breath and waits somewhat impatiently for Bard to return to him. But he doesn't. His lips trace across Thranduil's broad chest, dancing over his nipples with a teasing flick of his tongue, before he begins to move lower. Thranduil's brow creases, and his gaze lowers along with Bard, watching as he drops down to his knees. A warmth settles in the pit of his stomach, and he exhales a murmur in his native tongue at the sight of Bard on his knees. "I certainly approve of this view, Dragonslayer."

"Shut up," Bard grins, teeth catching the skin where fine hair leads down to Thranduil's waistband, and his gaze flickers up to meet the hazed eyes of the Elevenking currently watching his every move. " _My Lord._ " He adds in a playful tone, relishing in the way the elf shudders against him again, his hand finding the back of Bard's head to tangle his fingers into his curls.

"I would take care how I speak, if I were you." Thranduil murmurs in a low, mock warning. His grip tightens, and he presses Bard closer to encourage another kiss, and Bard happily complies. "You are talking to a king, after all."

"And, from one king to another, I say;" He presses a kiss just above the waistband, and slowly curls his fingers into it so that he can begin to draw the material down. "If you aren't going to moan, don't make a sound." Thranduil opens his mouth to retort, but Bard drags his trousers down swiftly over his hips, and presses his lips  _just_ above the Elvenking's length, the stubble of his chin grazing against him. To his utter annoyance, Thranduil  _does_ moan, fingers gripping Bard's hair tightly as he mutters something beneath his breath that Bard can't quite catch. Bard only smirks, and in a deliberately slow movement he traces his tongue along the entire length of Thranduil's cock, making a mental note of its size, and flicks his tongue over the head. Thranduil releases an uncharacteristic whine, and he closes his eyes, inhaling slowly in an attempt to calm himself whilst Bard works mercilessly to make him come undone.

His fingers tug lightly on Bard's hair, urging him forward as Bard finally closes his lips around his length and takes it into his mouth, his tongue running slowly along the underside and his fingers curling around the base. It's with a low moan that Thranduil roles his hips forward, eyes fluttering open so that he can watch the glorious sight before him. Nails press into the stone wall, and it takes a surprising amount of effort for him to keep stood tall, hunched only slightly so that he can brace himself against the wall. It's beautiful, in Bard's opinion, to be able to look up and see such an ancient yet breathtakingly stunning being coming undone because of a simple bargeman's mouth. He wonders for a moment what it would take to get Thranduil to cry out, to lose control over his vocal chords and come with a shout of Bard's name. 

The thought only makes his own arousal all the more painful, straining against his trousers as his mouth continues its relentless teasing. With languid strokes of his tongue and a slow bobbing of his head, it takes a while to work Thranduil up to his release, but Bard's enjoying himself far too much to even  _consider_ speeding up. How could he, when he'd yet to claim the prize he sought? The main signal that Thranduil is indeed close is the tensing of his stomach muscles, and the way his jaw falls slack as he grips tightly at the hair at the nape of Bard's neck. Bard hums teasingly around him to send the vibrations down along his length, encouraging the elf to start letting go as he watches intently. Thranduil looks truly beautiful in this moment, his mouth hanging open to form soft moans and words Bard cannot understand, his eyelids heavy but still open as he tries to focus on watching everything that Bard is doing. But, then, Bard gets what he's been looking for; Thranduil's head falls forward and he stutters on his words, his hips rocking forward. "O- _Oh_ ,  _Bard_." 

The words fall so softly Bard almost misses them, and it lights a flame in his groin as he quickens his pace to draw Thranduil over the edge and into a blissful release. And he watches in poorly disguised awe as Thranduil reaches his climax, his knees shaking only fleetingly as he leans heavily on the wall and thrusts his hips forward. Bard manages to react quickly enough to draw back, and happily swallows down the king's release as he reaches around to tangle his fingers into the back of his robes. Very slowly, he traces his tongue around the head of his length before drawing away, pulling Thranduil's trousers back up for a moment of decency as he rises to his feet. 

Thranduil's head remains bowed, bringing their foreheads close together as he pants softly, a sight that arouses Bard more than he can possibly put into words. He feels his breathing catching in his chest as he runs his fingertips along Thranduil's jaw, and leans in to press his lips to the soft skin, humming against it. When he moves to talk, however, Thranduil cuts him off swiftly.

"Fasten your clothing." He instructs firmly, straightening up as his fingers begin swiftly fastening his own clothing again. But not before Bard spots the faint red marks where he'd bit the skin, and his gaze traces up to admire the lightly flushed cheeks of the Elvenking.

"-- What?" Bard finally realises what he'd been instructed, and disappointments sets in, his brows furrowing as he numbly reaches up to refasten his coat. 

"We cannot continue here. People are searching for supplies not half a mile from here, it won't be long before we are interrupted." Bard opens his mouth again to speak, but Thranduil only continues. "We will return to my tent. It is warm," He pauses, gaze lingering on Bard's hands as he finishes fastening his clothing, and the wets his lips. "And we won't be disturbed. Do not follow immediately, if you wish this to remain private. I will see you shortly."

He moves to walk away, and Bard is pleased to note that for the briefest of moments he seems off balance, before he recovers smoothly and exits the ruins with his head held high and all the grace of the king that he is. Bard remains fixed in place for some twenty minutes, impatiently waiting what he deems an appropriate time before he all but rushes from the ruins and makes a beeline straight for Thranduil's tent. His arousal may have lessened slightly, but not altogether, and he's entirely eager to get his hands and lips all over the delicious skin of the Elvenking. And, of course, he longs to feel Thranduil's lips on his skin again, wants to learn how talented those long, nimble fingers can be.

He inhales a breath at the thought, and picks up the pace, long strides carrying him toward where Thranduil waits for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably end up writing the next part because this was good fun, but we'll see :D


End file.
